


Red

by skiittlebox



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, because why not, ensemble square doesnt exist, hints of midochia if you squint hard enough, i just love their dynamic sm Please Understand, its my fanfiction and i get to choose if canon exists, kind of an analysis on midori and chiaki, postgrad, ryusei red midori au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 23:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21279227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiittlebox/pseuds/skiittlebox
Summary: His relationship with the color red was complicated. Red was a color he associated with happiness and a sense of belonging, but also a color he saw tears and pain in. The start of dreams and the end of them were reflected in red. Red told a story, a story of broken wishes becoming reality built from fiction long before he even knew what red meant.It remained a color he loved and despised.





	Red

It was a familiar feeling to him: the nervous excitement. He always felt this hit him just before he took the stage with the other members of his unit by his side, almost in anticipation to see the excited audience and hear their cries of joy and applause when everything was done. The excitement to go out there and sing his heart out was a feeling that he had only really lavished in during the later part of his school year, because at that point doing so was starting to become his dream he wanted to never let go of.

Usually, the excitement outweighed the nerves. He knew that he had practiced hard with his unitmates, and that their leader was proud of the work they had put into things. There was only one thing left to do, and that was to share their happiness and talents with the crowd and world. Sure, he was nervous and even reluctant the first few times he stepped foot on that stage to sing and dance, but as time went on, it became something he enjoyed, it became what he wanted to do most. All of the thoughts he had before, of dreading an upcoming live, became wanting to start preparing for another.

But tonight, it was different.

Midori quietly paced the length of the backstage wing area, leather jacket gripped tightly in his arms. He was having a hard time even remembering a time where he was this nervous for Ryuseitai’s turn to entertain the crowd. His focus was all over the place, and nowhere near where he wanted it to be. It was going to be different tonight, and despite knowing he prepared the best he could for this night, he felt as if the world was crumbling around him, his entire reality was falling apart.

He meandered closer to the curtain that was bunched up near the wings. On stage, he could see the current performers and a small glimpse of the audience, penlights waving back and forth to the beat. Closer to the curtain he stepped, grabbing some of the red velvet fabric in his right hand and pulling it back ever so slightly, blue eyes darting across the dimly-lit crowd.

Maybe he would see him tonight.

He let out a heavy sigh as he dropped the curtain. He knew that if his old leader hadn’t messaged him and told him that he would be dropping by to visit and see how the unit was doing, he wouldn’t be tying himself into knots. Everything would’ve been fine if he wasn’t here.

Was he afraid Chiaki would see Ryuseitai and be disappointed with their showing? Would he be upset with his showing? As much as he still found it weird and even off-putting to tell himself, he truly did care about his old leader and he wanted to keep impressing him from where he left off last year. Just the thought of failing him weighed on him immensely, and it was the one thing he feared the most tonight: Ryuseitai was Chiaki’s dream he created, and he put so much time and devotion specifically into him. If he somehow failed Chiaki, he would’ve wasted an entire year of his life just to watch his dreams slowly die in front of him.

Midori turned away from the curtain and started to pace again. He saw his unitmates near the back wall of the wings. Tetora looked like he was mentally preparing for the show ahead, eyes closed and taking deep breaths, but Shinobu was simply staring at him with a face that somewhat resembled concern. He saw Shinobu mouth “you good?” to him.

Was he really so nervous that not only did he feel like he was mentally breaking down, but also physically? Surely he wasn’t at the point where tears would stain his face.

He gave a nod and small, yet forced smile, to his unitmate. Shinobu’s focus lingered on him for a while after that before his attention wandered elsewhere, to Tetora where he said a few words to him. With both how loud the music on stage was and the distance between him and the two, whatever they were talking about was beyond him.

At least it kept his focus off of him.

His eyes skimmed the stage again, where the performing unit was finishing up and from across the stage, on the other side of the wings, he saw the next unit to go huddled up and bouncing in anticipation.

It made him jealous. He should’ve been like them, excited to perform and not dreading every second closer to Ryuseitai’s appearance. He wanted to be excited to perform instead of wanting to run to the nearest corner and sit alone, knees at his chest in absolute fear and melancholy.

He turned around again, back to the wall where his unitmates were and faced the curtain again.

The red curtain.

Red.

His relationship with the color red was complicated. Red was a color he associated with happiness and a sense of belonging, but also a color he saw tears and pain in. The start of dreams and the end of them were reflected in red. Red told a story, a story of broken wishes becoming reality built from fiction long before he even knew what red meant.

Of course, red was his old leader’s color. Even if there was a new red, to him, it remained the color of his senior.

It remained a color he loved and despised. 

And it was a color that he always saw.

Red tie.

All last year, he wore that red tie, tucked underneath his black sweater. It was a tie he took no pleasure in wearing, as he never wanted to be an idol in the first place and was simply forced to take part in activities in the fate he accidentally doomed himself to, to be an idol. But as time went on, instead of putting the tie on to survive another dull day of school, he put the tie on to chase his dreams, something he never thought he’d do: why would he even have dreams in the first place if it impeded with the futures of those he held most dear?

But he had dreams now. And every day, he put on the red tie to go dream. Even if he wore a blue tie now, red was the color that started it all. It was the start of something.

Red blood.

Bright red drops of blood were spilled in the efforts to grab onto those dreams and never let go. On the practice room floors, blood would stain the hardwood floors, smearing the surface with red after tumbles and trips while practicing. It always did hurt to have red drip from a wound, and it was unpleasant when that same red blood was taken for a health check. But each little drop, whether pulsing through the veins or running down clean skin, was something that carried those dreams.

It was his bright, almost beautiful red blood as much as it was his dreams that flowed through him and escaped.

Red emotions.

All last year, his happiness regarding the situation he had put himself into surged from being nonexistent to becoming evident and fearless throughout the year. But beside it, another emotion built up, finally spilling and violently reacting with open air days before the most important performance of his idol career. He had dreams, sure, but they held no merit if he thought himself unworthy to chase, let alone hold those dreams. He looked in the mirror and saw wasted potential, he saw a waste of time, a waste of time to the people he cared most about. To inflict silent pain on those he loved by simply existing in their lives was a fate worse than death, and if it meant letting go of those dreams, he would have it that way. His emotions burned hot red, searing and unstable.

But red became a color that saved him that day as well. His leader, the bearer of red, wanted to see his junior’s dreams come true and made sure he would see them too. He worked it out with his family to open a path to follow those dreams instead of choosing the path that lead away from his own for the sake of others.

Red was both anger and joy that day, and red carried those dreams.

Red star.

The person who started the whole process was the owner of red himself. Before, he was lost and confused, drowning in his own emotions of anger and regret due to his mistake of becoming an idol. But then red came into his life. Chiaki saw something in him that he himself was blind to. And throughout the year, whether he knew it or not, he was slowly starting to break his junior’s shell and help him realize that his future wasn’t set in stone by his family, but it was what he wanted to make for himself.

Every day, he saw red. He saw red when his unit practiced for an upcoming live. He saw red during those lives. He saw red outside of school, whether it was for club activities or to simply bring him to and from school. It felt like that whatever he did, wherever he went, he would see red, and he could never escape.

At first, he resented red. It was a color that represented anything but happiness, given that it was Chiaki who dragged him into his unit, into all of this mess at the beginning. It was him who dragged him to unit practice to prepare for a live he wanted no part in or to play some sport he had no interest in playing. If his situation was bad before, Chiaki had found a way to make it even worse, even more of a chore he tried to put off. It was no wonder he started to see red as a color that enraged him and burned him out: every time he saw Chiaki, he felt annoyed, upset, and tired of everything. He wanted to be alone, to finally escape red for even one second.

But over time, red stopped becoming a color of unhappiness. Red became a color of joy.

The one thing that he resented the most about Chiaki, how he dragged him into everything, became the thing he was most grateful for. Instead of wasting his time like he thought, red had guided him to a path, a path to finding his dreams in a world where he lacked any and was even scared to have them. Red showed him that it was okay to dream. Red showed him that the one thing he despised the most, being an idol, was truly his dream. Sure, it was hard to admit that fact and even scary to a degree because dreaming meant his family would have no happiness if things didn’t plan out the way they needed to, but he wanted this more than anything. He was having fun performing with Ryuseitai, and this happiness he felt when he sang his heart out and brought smiles to the crowd who watched was worth every sleepless night, it was worth all the pain and struggles, it was worth everything he gave to be at that point. And it was all because Chiaki had guided him to this spot, he had found the potential in him long before he found it himself.

Red went from a color that he hated to one he truly loved.

To disappoint the person who brought him this far would be a disgrace to everything Chiaki did for him. It would be a disgrace to all the time and effort Chiaki put into him to help him find his dreams. It was as much him keeping Chiaki’s dream alive as much as it was Chiaki keeping Midori’s alive.

“Midori-kun?”

Midori’s head turned to the left, and Shinobu was beside him. On the other side of him, Tetora.

“You were staring off for a long while. Are you okay?” The tone of Tetora’s voice sounded slightly worried.

Midori sighed and clutched his jacket tighter, still in his arms. “I suppose I’m okay… do you think he’ll really be out there?”

He felt a small hand on his arm. “He said he would be, right?”

Blue eyes scanned the audience that was visible from the wings. Penlights were shaking and bobbing as the unit on stage finished their performance…

And there, not even in his seat yet but rather standing in the aisle, was that smile that taught him how to dream. From that spot, looking straight at him, he waved.

A smile traced Midori’s lips for the first time that night. “Yeah. I think… I think I’m going to be okay.” He ran a finger over the jacket’s sleeve, still in his arms.

“Well in that case, we should get ready!” Tetora stepped forward, towards the wing. Shinobu did the same.

Midori stepped forward with the two. He raised his arms and put the jacket on.

And he saw Chiaki smile and take his seat.

It was funny to him, to think that the color he despised the most was the color he would one day come to love, and the color that taught him to dream.

Red was Chiaki’s dream as much as it was Midori’s.

And he would wear that dream proudly on his shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> i thought of this au today and cried a lot so i had to do this
> 
> thanks for reading ☆


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